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I've been wondering if forcing yourself to write when you just aren't in the mood for it is actually a good idea. You could end up resenting it even more than you currently already do.  * Side-note... as I started typing this, the bloody next door neighbours turned on a saw loud enough that it must be possible to chop down the fecking statue of Liberty. HOW do you write and get creative with that kind of noise?! This is useless....  Nevertheless... I was overwhelmingly inspired yesterday by a man who, needless to say, is a huge inspiration. Grant Achatz. He's the owner and chef of a restaurant in Chicago called Alinea. I've been watching this tv show sometimes on netflix when I'm too bored to do anything else with my unemployed ass - it's called The Chefs Table. It's a brilliant show based on the biographies of some of the most world-renowned chefs. Yeah - I don't really know why I watch chef programs when I still struggle to flip a friggen omelette but ...

I say sorry to my heart, the pain found out you will never love me, today all my hopes and dreams, fade so far away and its there they stay, in the distance So if I could, I'd shed my heart of you I'd coat myself in armour, too Just forget us, forget us,  Forget us Lets start over Lets forget one another These lonely days will pass No more hearts of broken glass But you will always be my past... Encapsulated, we were in the cold and dark A twisted forest, as rough as the tree bark But it was fragile stuff, almost broken from the start How it lasted as long as it did was an art Forgot it was all just temporary, 'cause everything comes to an end eventually Just forget us, forget us Forget us Lets start over Lets forget one another These lonely days will pass No more hearts of broken glass But you will always be my past... You taught me so, so much You became my fucking crutch Wish I'd seen it coming now Would have stopped it all somehow But then I ask myself the question,...

As always, my plans to write daily and publish something.. anything.. on this blog, isn't going to go very well this weekend. I'll be busy, away from wifi and from my beloved laptop. Fishing, kayaking, camping up North and paddle-boarding.  Before I head off, I thought I'd stick to my word and share with you how we cooked the seabass I caught.  We didn't have a pestle and mortar so we shoved all the following ingredients into a nutri-bullet to pour both inside and outside of the fish. 3cm ginger 3 garlic cloves 2 chillies handful of coriander 2 squeezed limes 1 lemongrass stalk Salt and Pepper 2 tbsp Olive Oil We put the fish onto a well oiled piece of foil on a baking tray, basted the fish in the above sauce while the oven was pre-heating at 180 degrees and then slid it in to cook for 30 minutes while we started watching a brilliant horror movie called Hush starring Samantha Sloyan. It's about a woman who has severe hearing loss after catching bacterial meningitis ...

After writing about writers block yesterday and having gotten a lot off of my chest, I think I've figured out what I need to do.  I need to write every day. Write anything. Thoughts, feeling - document my days like an online journal for the world to see. I am not writing it for anyone else but for me and I truly don't expect anyone else to take the time to read it - but I thank the four bloggers who have been there to read my words since almost the beginning.. Lindsay,   Launna , Sonia and Ginger. Writing isn't something I want to let go of and you four have given me some sort of inspiration I'm grasping hold of. I'm trying.  So these words and these posts aren't going to be ground-breaking. Hell, the writings probably going to be pretty shitty if I'm honest... but it's a start so that I can venture back into words and creativity and eventually rediscover that passion that I have for it. I just hope to God it comes back to me before November as I despe...

Hey guys (the 0.01% of you that actually read me...), been a while. The writer that doesn't write... I heard those words a few days ago, five different words of the English language, arranged to describe me perfectly.  Just to open up this long ago abandoned blog, I had to crack open the wine. Can I even call myself a writer anymore? I look at the two books I have written, bound in paperback - I can hold them and I can feel them. The thickness of the spine. The breeze from the pages fluttering close to my face as I run my thumb along the corners of the book. They are mine. I created them... those worlds, those characters, those stories. I did, didn't I? So why doesn't it feel like it right now? It all feels so surreal. When did I find the time, the energy and the patience to DO that? Where did I get the inspiration??? I look at the neglected document lying in my MacBooks desktop - my third novel. Possibly my best novel. I know that even though it's only a few chapters i...